


Haven't Had Enough

by Sola_Ircadia



Category: Tekken
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot Collection, Oral Sex, Pining, Sappy, Sexual Content, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-11-11 10:09:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11146284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sola_Ircadia/pseuds/Sola_Ircadia
Summary: They fit together better than they thought they might. It helps that the sex is fuckingfantastic.(Jin/Hwoarang one-shot series)





	1. Extended Metaphors

**Author's Note:**

> Here's to hoping that I can make this work? This is the M-rated version of my Jin/Hwoarang one-shot collections. There's a PG one in the works, I'm just really bad at prioritizing. 
> 
> The goal is to update once a week, and the sexual content will (eventually) range from implied to explicit as I gain confidence. This is part shot in the dark, part practice, and part a testament to my undying adoration for these two, so I really hope I can do this justice. Some of these will be set in canon, although most of them will be set in alternate universes or vague approximations of the sort.
> 
> Happy reading and have a wonderful day!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jin has lost count of all the seemingly unrelated songs that are actually about sex. (AU, training habits)

Hwoarang, Jin has observed, has two modes when it comes to training: focused and free-reign.

 

He always puts in the effort, that much is undisputable. Like Jin, Hwoarang takes his training extremely seriously, modifying and maintaining regiments with an almost unnatural precision. Nothing is overlooked, from sleep schedules to food to the amount of time allotted for extraneous duties like grocery shopping or working. They both prefer to keep things as organized as possible, both to minimize conflict and to maximize synchrony.

 

...come to think of it, there’s a slight chance that they might take their training a little _too_ seriously.

 

But unlike Jin, Hwoarang is a lot better about knowing when to lighten up and take it easy. Granted, Jin has been learning the nuanced art of not being such a “massive stick-in-the-mud” (mostly thanks to all of the time they spend together now that they share an apartment), but Hwoarang is undoubtedly the more experienced of the two in that regard. It’s why they’re so good together (probably); Hwoarang helps Jin relax and have a little fun, and Jin keeps Hwoarang on-track and out of quite as much trouble.

 

Hwoarang’s focused regiment is pretty much exactly what it sounds like. It’s high-intensity, high-stakes training with the primary goal being to hone and develop technical efficiency on even the most infinitesimal of levels. These sessions is where repetition of motions comes in; these are the things that he speaks at length about with his master, doing and re-doing movements and sequences until all parties deem them to be satisfactory. Jin himself is familiar with this sort of training, as it tends to be his primary method of practice. Everything is about perfection and precision, after all, especially where his techniques are concerned. It usually works fairly well, although he does have a certain unfortunate tendency to get very caught up in the particulars of it all, which can lead to him having some very serious hang-ups that need to be dispelled immediately before a mood sets in. Hwoarang disapproves of this, naturally, and that’s where his free-reign mode of training comes into play.

 

Free-reign training is characterized by three specific, identifiable markers: goofing off, sparring, and music genre. Hwoarang hardly ever screws around during his more serious rounds of training, but this is a no-holds barred zone. Jin can’t keep track of all the times that actual sparring sessions have devolved into bouts of artless wrestling or ruthless tickle fights when Hwoarang doesn’t feel like keeping up with Jin’s pace. Because sure, sparring is tons of fun until someone starts to take it a little too seriously for the day’s whims and the next thing Jin knows, Hwoarang has tackled him to the floor and is relentlessly tickling the hell out of his sides. Jin’s specialty is in holds and pins, like his mother; Hwoarang’s specialty is in being unpredictable and surprising the daylights out of him. He thought he would’ve learned what to expect from Hwoarang by now, but each new day brings more reasons to prove him wrong.

 

And of course, all the while, there’s some beat playing in the background, another song with English lyrics that Jin has to really pay attention to in order to understand. Not that he wants to. He found out pretty quickly that the words weren’t quite as harmless as he’d initially thought, and by now, Jin has lost count of all the seemingly unrelated songs that are actually about sex.

 

(He hadn’t really thought about it until Hwoarang had nearly laughed him out of the apartment for singing one of the songs to himself as he washed the dishes, not particularly enjoying anything about it other than the fact that it was catchy. Needless to say, he’s been much more careful since then.)

 

It seems as though musicians can turn anything into an innuendo or a metaphor, something that Hwoarang is also pretty good at when he puts his mind to it (and when Jin is actually paying attention; those kinds of things tend to go over his head if he isn’t looking for them). Jin is pretty sure that he’s heard everything used by now, though, from dancing to fighting to _driving cars_ , of all things. He isn’t sure how he feels about it, but one thing is obvious: Hwoarang thinks it’s fucking hilarious.

 

It also suits the mood pretty well, all things considered. Free-reign sessions have no real end goal in mind other than getting in their daily dose of physical exertion, and sexual activity definitely counts. Impromptu wrestling matches have been brought to abrupt halts by Hwoarang’s uncanny ability to get Jin’s pants off, and Jin is the first to admit that he finds Hwoarang’s kisses to be _very_ distracting. He didn’t think he would ever quite get used to the unexpected intimacy at first, but he has quickly found it to be enjoyable, even going so far as to initiate such contact when he feels comfortable enough to do so.

 

(The astonished look on Hwoarang’s face when Jin traps him under his body is pretty great, too, although the sounds that he makes when Jin starts touching him are even better.)

 

But it’s always the free-reign sessions that lead them to situations like the one they’ve currently ended up in, with Jin on his back and Hwoarang between his legs, his mouth far too busy with...other things to smother Jin’s moans as they gradually increase in volume.

 

“Hwoarang,” Jin whines, one hand in his lover’s hair and the other gripping uselessly at the dojo’s floor. “Wait, you – _Hwoarang – !_ ”

 

The only answer he gets is a soft, vibrating laugh that makes him cry out, back arching up off the floor as he tries desperately to maintain some semblance of control over his own body. Seeing as Hwoarang has been going at this for a bit now, that is only getting more and more difficult to manage as the moments pass, and Jin whimpers, his hand moving to join the other in holding onto Hwoarang’s hair. He’s so close. Hwoarang knows this.

 

All of his previous protests have been reduced to a hushed whisper, drowned out by suggestive, albeit distant, song lyrics and the persistent throb of arousal between his legs that only grows stronger as Hwoarang takes him deeper. The tight, wet warmth of his lover’s mouth is almost unbearable and his hips jerk up, helpless and desperate. The heat pooling in his lower abdomen swells, and he gasps Hwoarang’s name with what little forethought he has left, trying to warn him.

 

Hwoarang’s grip on Jin’s thighs tightens slightly, but he doesn’t stop, and then Jin is coming, eyes shut and head thrown back as the pleasure washes over him in waves. A series of soft cries are torn from his throat as his lover persists in his actions, not stopping until Jin has finished releasing into his mouth, and he trembles from the deliberate overstimulation of it all.

 

“Don’t you ever,” he gasps, still coming back to himself and not even bothering to prop himself up, “play that stupid song again.”

 

Hwoarang just laughs at him, leaving a suggestive nip at Jin’s inner thigh for consideration before sitting back, swiping at the white mess at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

 

“If you think it was the song that inspired me to suck you off, you’ve got another thing coming.” He says lightly, grinning when Jin groans in exasperation. Their recent activities have taken quite an edge off of his disapproval, though, and Hwoarang knows exactly how to keep _that_ up.

 

“Hey, Jin.” He waits until he has his lover’s attention before continuing, a smirk spreading across his features. “What do you say we take this training session to the bedroom?”

 

Jin rolls his eyes, but doesn’t object in the slightest.

 

 


	2. Deconstructed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All they want is more; all they want is what they are too scared to have. (AU)

 

 

They are in love, and they both know it.

 

It’s not that all they think about is the other; far from it, in fact. They both have their responsibilities, their endless strings of duties and obligations and well-intentioned to-do lists that span on for miles and miles. The smartest thing is to be unattached and well-prepared. Focused, driven, capable. If they are suited to the demands of their everyday lives, then everything will fall into place eventually. They are too busy to be thinking, except they are.

 

When it’s dark, and they are alone, they think of each other.

 

They come together when they can, close and then closer, a meeting that is supposed to be the last time but most definitely won’t be. They miss each other when they’re apart, and it shows in the unnecessary contact, the concerned questions, the seemingly relentless need to see and to keep seeing. Jin smiles at him and Hwoarang can’t help but smile back; Hwoarang rests a hand on the back of Jin’s neck and leans in and they both know that they’re absolutely done for.

 

They fall into Hwoarang’s bed before the evening is out, hands searching and mouths demanding to be kissed, pushing and pulling and holding close. They fit so well together, and when Hwoarang slides a leg between Jin’s, his lover clings to him, moaning as he tries to catch his breath.

 

“What do you want, baby?” Hwoarang murmurs, one hand on Jin’s lower back and the other between his thighs. “Gotta admit, I’ve missed having you in my bed...”

 

“You.” Jin answers, kissing him. “Whatever you want.”

 

Every movement is so surreal, halfway a blur and yet so startlingly clear. Hwoarang pins him down against the mattress, fingers laced together as they grind out a slow, burning rhythm between their bodies. Jin pushes back, spreading his legs to fit his lover between them even as he shifts to nip at Hwoarang’s throat. Rocking together, close as they can be, hip to hip, mouth to mouth. They want each other, but there is no rush in removing their clothes – the foreplay is always drawn out like this, and the preparation just as much so. They take their time with each other, searching and claiming and memorizing as much as they can before it’s over.

 

(Like it’s the last time, because it should be, except it isn’t.)

 

“Jin.” Hwoarang nuzzles his lover’s face as he adjusts, hovering, not moving until he knows it’s okay to do so.

 

“Hwoarang.” Jin closes his eyes, taking solace in the affectionate gesture and trying to catch his breath.

 

There is silence, there is a shift into a place where nothing can hurt them anymore – and then there is movement, Hwoarang drawing back and rolling forward and Jin arching up against him with a quiet moan. Hwoarang has a hand against his lower back, keeping him close, and Jin holds tight to his lover’s strong shoulders, eyes closed and breath coming in short bursts.

 

They kiss, and it’s as artless as it is perfect, swallowing each other’s moans before Hwoarang breaks away and sets his teeth against Jin’s throat, sucking and marking and sending thrills running his lover’s oversensitive nerves. Hips strain to meet answering thrusts, bodies slick with sweat, and Hwoarang moans into the curve of his lover’s neck when Jin tightens around him. It’s so good. Has it always been this good?

 

Hwoarang pushes himself up again, changing the angle and slamming into him harder, drawing a loud cry from Jin as the pleasure begins to reach its peak. They’re both panting, governed by their need for release, and Jin moans openly when Hwoarang’s hand slips between their bodies. The heat, the pressure, the perfectly timed and familiar strokes – it’s too much for him, and Jin comes with a whimper of his lover’s name, muscles trembling as white light floods his vision. The pleasure is overwhelming for those endlessly drawn-out seconds, and he feels more than sees Hwoarang finish after him, gasping Jin’s name as his release overtakes him.

 

They remain that way for a moment, panting softly, not moving as they hold onto the moment and try to remember themselves. Jin makes a quiet sound, a vague question that doesn’t really need to be answered, but Hwoarang kisses him anyway. It’s slow and sweet, and they rearrange their bodies with all the care and leisure of those who have all the time in the world.

 

Their foreheads are touching, mouths close enough to allow for a gentle kiss every few moments, a fact of proximity that they take advantage of even as they’re still trying to catch their breath. Nothing more is said, and it doesn’t need to be said at all – they are here, with each other, and their thoughts are finally at rest. It is with quiet relief that they slowly fall asleep in each other’s arms, close and warm and safe, adrift in a place where it is them and nothing else.

 

Outside, they always wonder if it’s too much trouble to have someone be that close. When they are apart, it’s easy to forget just how good it feels in the moment, just how safe and warm everything is. Outside of their quiet little world, they have their second thoughts. Outside, they might be scared.

 

But they might know better, too. Something has to give. Something has to be enough.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Can’t you stay a little longer?”

 

It’s a question that has come up many times by now. They take turns with it, asking and answering, coming and going, leaving and being left behind. Neither of them can ever quite bring themselves to shake that fear away, that clinging, cloying fear of wanting and having and then losing. They’ve come close in the past, but to no avail. Neither of them have ever stayed for too long.

 

It’s Hwoarang who asks this time, standing there in sweatpants and an old T-shirt of Jin’s that he must’ve left behind one time. His hair is pulled back, messy strands about his face, and there’s something about him that just looks so undeniably, terribly inviting that Jin hesitates. Falters in the buttoning of his shirt. Looks at the other man closer this time, sees the fear and the desire and the ache, the _longing_ all at war with each other. They are afraid, but they are better than that. It has been long enough now and they’ve learned so much that maybe, on the outside, it’s not as bad as they think it is.

 

Jin takes a deep breath. It’s now or never.

 

“You know what?” He starts, and is gratified by the hope that shines unbidden in Hwoarang’s eyes. “Yes. I can stay.”

 

And it is enough.

 

 


	3. Easier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jin finds himself in a bit of a predicament. Hwoarang offers to help him out, and it’s pretty much what they’ve always wanted. (AU)

 

_Jin knew he was dreaming._

 

_He knew this because it probably wouldn’t be happening otherwise. If he wasn’t dreaming, then his best friend wouldn’t be touching him like this, fingers in his hair, bodies pressed close, legs tangled together. They wouldn’t be kissing like this, hard and hot and wanting – they wouldn’t be kissing at all. They wouldn’t even be this close (at least, not like this), hips rolling forward in a friction-seeking daze._

 

_He knew he was dreaming, but he didn’t care. He wanted it. At least, while he was dreaming, his best friend wanted it, too._

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Jin, wake up!”

 

Startled, Jin jerked forward, hands in the sheets and eyes wide with sleep-induced confusion as he tried to get his bearings, head whipping around until his gaze landed on the body beside him.

 

_Oh._

 

“Some dream you must’ve been having there,” Hwoarang said lightly, a knowing smirk on his face. “You alright?”

 

Jin flushed, more than aware of the evidence in favor of his transgressions. It’s not like they hadn’t shared a bed before – they'd been doing that for every sleepover since they were small children, and being in high school hadn't changed the fact that they were very comfortable with each other – but this and that were two _very_ different things. This wasn't the first time this had happened to either of them, but there was something about the edge to Hwoarang’s grin that made Jin think that he might know just a little _too_ much this time around.

 

“Uh...I guess...” Jin managed, trying not to stammer too much. Hwoarang raised an eyebrow.

 

“You gonna be alright?”

 

Jin nodded furiously, eager to dispel this awkward conversation, but his friend didn’t seem like he was paying much attention to that. Instead, he reached out, grabbing Jin by the waist (he wasn’t that far away to begin with because Jin could be a bit of a cuddler) and yanking him back down against the bed. And against his body.

 

“Want me to help you out with that?” Hwoarang’s voice came out in a hot murmur, his leg pushing far enough between Jin’s that he actually yelped.

 

He knew he shouldn’t move, but his body didn’t seem to get the message. Jin gave an experimental roll of his hips and immediately regretted it, the sudden thrill of pleasure at the contact making him gasp. Totally blindsided by the rush of it, all he wanted was to do it again; all he wanted was to press closer to his best friend’s body and keep grinding until he was seeing stars.

 

_All he wanted was to take Hwoarang up on his offer._

 

Jin let out a panicked noise and Hwoarang laughed quietly at his confusion, moving the hand on his shoulder so that it rested lightly against the side of his neck. The touch sent a tremor through Jin’s spine and he shuddered, suddenly too nervous to meet his best friend’s all-too knowing gaze. _Dammit!_ If his desire was this obvious to his own senses, it was definitely obvious to Hwoarang, who was infinitely less dense in this domain than Jin was. There was no way that he was missing any of this, and the thought of being read so thoroughly in his moment of weakness made Jin want to punch something. Or scream. Or pull the covers up over his head and pretend like he didn’t exist –

 

Hwoarang chose that exact moment to wedge himself closer, pressing a strong thigh up more firmly against Jin’s obvious arousal and effectively derailing every thought process in his head. The complete loss of brain function was accompanied by a tiny whimper in the back of Jin’s throat.

 

“Jin, are you gonna answer me?” Hwoarang’s mouth was close to his ear and Jin shuddered again, unable to process anything more than his proximity and the unbearable heat between his legs. “I can’t help you unless you want me to.”

 

“Don’t make me say it.” Jin surprised himself by actually managing words, but the victory was short-lived when Hwoarang shook his head.

 

“I need a straight answer, Jin. I’m not gonna touch you unless you say yes.”

 

Jin knew that it wasn’t a game, but he’d be damned if it didn’t feel like one. Hwoarang always liked to mess with him, always liked to push and ruffle and tease until Jin was either too flustered to retort or decided that actions would work better than words. Sometimes it was both, and he would fight his best friend with a blush on his cheeks, intent on punching that smug smirk right off of Hwoarang’s face.

 

Hwoarang wasn’t smirking now, though, not really – his eyes were dancing, bright and honest, but he was serious about this. He wasn’t going to cross any lines unless Jin shared his certain consent on the matter.

 

And, more than anything, Jin wanted him to cross that line and at least fifteen lines thereafter.

 

“Hwoarang, please.” Jin swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Yes. I can’t – yes. Please.”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

Jin almost screamed.

 

“ _Hwoarang,_ ” he started, ready to fight, but the name had barely left his mouth before it turned into a choked moan as Hwoarang firmly pushed his thigh up against his arousal again. _Oh God._ The pressure was more than enough, but a small smirk from Hwoarang was Jin’s only warning before the redhead tugged Jin closer by the waist and slid his other hand down his pants.

 

“That better?” Hwoarang teased, smirking as Jin immediately arched into his touch and whined. “Sheesh. You ever done this before?”

 

The images flashed into his head unbidden; the urgent secrecy with which he would touch himself at night, Hwoarang’s face and hands at the forefront of his mind. All the dreams he’s had, hot whispers and loud moans. The memories made him whimper slightly, which of course didn’t help his case much.

 

“Is that a no?”

 

In that moment, Jin decided two things. The first thing was that Hwoarang needed to stop talking right this damn instant, mostly because he was being such a smug pain in the ass but also because his voice was kind of turning Jin on and it was making everything about this much more difficult to deal with. The second thing was that, as Hwoarang persisted in touching him the way he was, Jin’s pants and moans were becoming definitively louder in volume, and it was embarrassing as hell.

 

So, in his overwhelmed state, he kissed him.

 

...and Hwoarang kissed him back, hot and demanding and every bit as good as he’d imagined it would be. It was everything he’d ever wanted, and he was instantly overwhelmed by the feeling of Hwoarang’s mouth completely dominating his own, of Hwoarang’s body pushing tighter against him, of Hwoarang grinding his own arousal against Jin’s thigh until Jin could feel him shuddering, too. Jin clung to him, holding on for dear life, crying out when the other broke away to nip at his jaw, his throat, his shoulder. He wanted all of this. He was so close, but he didn’t want it to end, either.

 

“You know, Jin,” Hwoarang murmured against his throat, a moan somewhere in his voice, “I heard you calling my name.”

 

That’s what did it as much as anything else, and Jin’s whole body locked up as he spilled into Hwoarang’s hand, his climax hitting him hard and fast. His vision whited out, his breath came in short bursts, and he was barely conscious enough to register the weakened cries that he was letting out – somehow, though, he didn’t miss the sound of Hwoarang moaning as he came soon after, Jin’s name the loudest sound in the room.

 

Silence descended as they lay together for a while, faces close together, feeling the other’s proximity more than seeing it. Jin concentrated on catching his breath. He knew that if he tried to put together what had just happened he wouldn’t be able to do it right now. His head was still a mess, and he didn’t know if he could handle anything too strenuous.

 

“So.” Hwoarang said, breaking the silence, still slightly out of breath as he quirked an eyebrow at Jin. “Does this mean I can date you now?”

 

Jin responded first by kissing him, feeling the smile on Hwoarang’s lips and knowing it matched the one on his own.

 

“Yes.” The conviction in his voice left no room for argument. “Absolutely.”

 


	4. All I Got Was This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He will always want Jin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonder of wonders, this is actually set in the canonical universe, which is probably why it's mostly angst? My bad.

In between nightmares, he dreams about Jin Kazama.

 

This is something he’s gotten accustomed to, and by now, he’s been forced to accept it as a sad fact of life. When he sleeps (if he sleeps, a feat in itself) he sees him. He sees other things, too, death and bloodstains and the shapeless faces of everyone he’s ever killed, but Jin Kazama is always there.

 

Jin, with his expressionless anger and silent fury. Jin, with his empty gaze and misguided intentions. Jin, with his endless drive and singular focus and that infuriating, suicidal stubbornness. Hwoarang knows all of these things so well, can see them in his visage even when he doesn’t say a word, even when he only appears for a mere moment or two. He can feel his presence when he’s there; no sphere of existence, reality or dreamscape or any hell in between, will be able to deny him the manifestation of Jin’s aura. Especially not when it’s his own psyche drawing it up from the depths of his memories. He remembers too much, and it shows. Little things. Stupid things.

 

Jin, with his deep brown eyes and stupidly long eyelashes. Jin, with his perfect grace and practiced intensity. Jin, with his soft lips and tiny, rare smiles that Hwoarang can’t seem to forget about no matter what he does. Jin, with his beautiful face and beautiful voice and fucking beautiful _everything_. It’s enough to make anyone crazy, but Hwoarang isn’t just anyone. He’s been thinking about Jin fucking Kazama almost non-stop since the day he’d met him when they were teenagers, and although he can’t pinpoint exactly when his desire to fight him again morphed into a simple need to just _see_ him, he knows that he’s long-since passed that stage.

 

He wants him.

 

It doesn’t matter what he does or how hard he brushes him off (or how much he acts like he doesn’t exist), he will always want him. It’s too late for his mind to be changed.

 

He will always want Jin.

 

He always has, since the moment they met, albeit in a different way since then. There’s always been something about him that kept Hwoarang stuck on the memories that they shared, replaying them over and over in his memories until he was sure he could hear Jin’s voice in his head at night. Now, of course, he knows he can hear his voice in his head. He can fucking see him, can almost touch him, smooth skin and hard muscle and messy strands of dark hair. It has gotten to the point where he can’t even deny it anymore, although he still tries to sometimes.

 

He’s fucking pining after Jin Kazama.

 

In between nightmares, he dreams about him, hears his damned voice calling out to him in ways that he never did in reality. Sometimes, in his dreams, Jin acknowledges him. He doesn’t look right through him anymore or pretend he doesn’t hear him – no, he reaches out to him, pays attention to his words, treats him like he matters and like he still cares about the promises they made.

 

And sure, they had been naïve fucking _children_ when they’d made that promise for their rematch after the third tournament, but Hwoarang hasn’t forgotten and he knows for a fact that Jin’s memory is better than his. Sure, they hadn’t seen anything yet when they’d made that promise – they thought they had, but they’d been wrong – but that shouldn’t have made it mean anything less.

 

Or is he just another thing that Jin put away, another part of life that he didn’t have time for anymore?

 

He wants to move on, he tells himself as he goes to bed with the uncrushable hopes of seeing Jin in his dreams again. He doesn’t care about him, he thinks as the mere hint of a memory of Jin smiling at him at the third tournament is enough to make Hwoarang miss him. He doesn’t need him at all, he insists as he closes his eyes and tries to remember every little thing he can about him.

 

That’s where it begins, probably. The softer dreams. The gentle ones. The ones that leave him slowly in the mornings as he awakens, confused and overwhelmed and aching in too many places to keep track of.

 

In between nightmares, he dreams of Jin Kazama.

 

They’re so close, but it’s not a lock or a hold or a pin; no, it’s Jin’s hands on his face, on his waist, on his hips, gentle and reverent and leaving trails of fire with soft, stroking motions. It’s Jin’s mouth pressed firmly against his own, warm and distracting, his rival’s quiet moans vibrating against his lips. It’s Jin’s arms around him, keeping him close, _wanting_ him to be close. Jin, with his fierce kisses and deep, hushed groans that only make him want him more. Jin, with his strong body and smooth, satin skin that feels so good against Hwoarang’s own body, his own skin. Jin, with his talented fingers and knowing touches and skilled, heat-seeking hands that take him apart in all the right ways until he’s whimpering and mewling Jin’s name.

 

Their bodies entwine and he loves it, loves feeling Jin so close, loves his lips against his throat and the way he whispers his name. There’s never really a rhyme or reason to it, it’s just the two of them and no end in sight to the time they have together. Hwoarang holds his rival’s hips as Jin rides him, muscles working beneath sweat-slicked skin and head thrown back even as he pants, moans, whines. He’s so tight that it’s almost unbearable, and he thrusts up harder, Jin crying out loudly when he does so. It’s so good. Jin presses him down into the mattress, fingers laced with Hwoarang’s own as he drives into his body. Hwoarang can’t think, can’t breathe – he just moans desperately, arching up to meet Jin’s thrusts and shuddering when he feels his rival marking up his throat, his shoulders, his chest. It’s so _fucking_ _good_.

 

He loses track of all the times he says Jin’s name, saying it more than he needs to just because he can. Just because he likes it. Just because Jin answers him, acknowledges him, holds him and kisses him and calls his name in return. Being close is enough; the rest is just adding fuel to the fire.

 

(Or rubbing salt in the wound, but that’s for when he’s awake.)

 

What he can remember of the dreams should humiliate him, but it doesn’t, it _doesn’t_. He wants it. He wants Jin.

 

He will always want Jin.

 

 


	5. Action Potential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, sparring is just another stimulant.

 

For him, it starts with the heat.

 

Hwoarang isn’t too hard to please in most cases, sparring in itself being enough to keep him happy, but having Jin’s body in such proximity to his own in this sort of setting is almost too much. They go, they go and they don’t stop, pushing, pulling, trading places and stances and running through motions that they don’t even have to think about anymore. Jin is close and Hwoarang just drags him closer (closer, closer, closer) until the heat between them is almost unbearable.

 

Mental, physical, emotional, it’s a fire of sorts, it’s a heat that he loves and won’t ignore. It’s the heat of the fight, the heat of their feelings, the heat of their bodies coming together as Hwoarang pins his lover to the floor and kisses him senseless. Because that’s what it comes to, eventually, and there’s only one way to satisfy the burn creeping under his skin. He’ll give in sooner or later, usually sooner; Hwoarang isn’t the type to stick around and wait for the inevitable to eventually occur. No, he would rather take it upon himself to make it happen when he wants it to, so he leans in and braces himself up on one elbow as he unties Jin’s gi pants with his free hand. Jin helps, kissing him all the while, smooth skin hot to the touch and gleaming with sweat.

 

He wants this, too, and it just fans the flames.

 

He can’t explain the heat, hardly even registers it as a driving force most days – it’s a subconscious thing, an urge burning through his veins with all the ferocity of lust, of desire, of the inescapable itch to start a fight. Jin puts him in a position he’s never been in before, and sometimes, he doesn’t understand himself at all. The simplest of things send a flash of fire running down his spine. Sparring, for all of its other virtues, is merely a candle in a solar flare when compared to the feelings he’s experiencing right now.

 

Jin bites Hwoarang’s lower lip and the redhead growls, kissing back harder as he works Jin’s gi pants off his hips. His fingers curl around his lover’s cock and give an experimental squeeze – Jin gasps into his mouth and arches up, his grip on Hwoarang’s hair jerking tighter as his body responds to the stimulation. Hwoarang smirks. The heat, in all its omnipresence, grows stronger.

 

He hovers between Jin’s legs, stroking him the way he likes it (hard, fast, just the slightest edge of carelessness) and watches him. Each breath he takes makes the heat grow stronger, ribbons of magma trailing along his nerves that only get hotter with every twist of Jin’s body, every jerk of his hips, every moan that gradually begins to increase in volume. His fingers grip uselessly at the floor, chest heaving as he works to stay quiet – Jin keeps his restraint held tight around him, both out of preference and out of necessity, but Hwoarang knows how to dismantle it. The fire whispers to him. He listens, fingers closing tighter and causing his lover to cry out.

 

Jin shudders beneath him, eyes closed, panting desperately as Hwoarang increases his pace. He’s beautiful, exquisitely so, full lips parted and long eyelashes dark against his skin. His brow furrows, his expression just this shy of pained, some glorious blend of helplessness and hurt and wanton desire. The heat intensifies. Hwoarang leans in and whispers to him.

 

“Come on, baby.” Jin almost whines at the sound of his voice, and he presses on. “You’re okay...you can let go here. I want to hear you.”

 

“Hwoarang,” he gasps, head tossing to the side. A few more strokes have him moaning low in his throat, unable to hold on for much longer. He’s so close.

 

Shaking fingers thread through Hwoarang’s hair and pull him down for another kiss, messy and aggressive. Jin’s moans are muffled by his lover’s mouth, but they’re louder than they had been before, and the heat surges victoriously. There is nothing and no one in this world like Jin.

 

Nothing will ever be this good again.

 

Jin whimpers into his mouth and then he’s coming hard, back arching as his climax strips him of whatever control he’d had before. Hwoarang pulls back slightly to let him breathe, watching intently once more, studying the flush on his cheekbones, the glaze in his half-lidded eyes, the softness in his expression as he turns his gaze to meet Hwoarang’s. He’s beautiful.

 

The embers purr quietly, finally satisfied, and Hwoarang brushes his lips against his lover’s forehead, murmuring gently to him. It may start with the heat, but in the end, there is only Jin.

 

* * *

 

For him, it starts with the longing.

 

It sits there, quiet and mostly undisturbed, humming beneath the surface and only unfurling to full size when the moment is right. What the “right moment” is, exactly, Jin is uncertain, but he’s noticed patterns. Stemming from sweat and stimulation, from closeness and mutual desire, the sensation almost lurks underneath his skin like a presence that’s just shy of being a threat. (It’s not, though – he knows well enough what the biggest danger from within is.)

 

He keeps his control wrapped tightly around himself, a defense against – and for the sake of – others. Now, though, it’s more of a hindrance than anything worthwhile, and the longing slipping through his veins reminds him of that. Hwoarang is here, and he wants him. Fierce, fast, focused, he’s everything Jin had never known he’d always needed, and every moment they spend together (sitting, working, sparring) just compounds the yearning in his chest. Does he really deserve this?

 

Does he really deserve someone who wants him just as much as he wants them?

 

On days when Hwoarang pushes first, he feels it, but it’s different. There’s an edge that isn’t there, a certain intensity that is missing. He wants what Hwoarang wants, absolutely, but the dark desire is not dripping through his veins. (Not yet.) He craves his kisses, his touch against his skin, the delight of their bodies coming together in the midst of sultry heat and mutual lust, but the shadows do not whisper to him as they do when he initiates these sorts of things himself.

 

They are now, though, murmuring sweet promises that Jin recognizes as his own. Hwoarang is before him, saying something unimportant, his hair a mess and his skin flushed and his mouth moving, bending, smirking – Some essence of self-control snaps inside of him, and then he’s holding Hwoarang tightly against his body, kissing him so hard that his lover gasps when they break apart. Jin doesn’t bother to find a better place than the floor, knowing that Hwoarang won’t really want him to, and hovers over him, hands on either side of his head. The intensity in the redhead’s bright eyes matches his own, and he likes that. They’ve always been equals.

 

Ridding Hwoarang of his dobok pants is a simple matter, even when the redhead pulls him down for a demanding kiss, teeth nipping at his lower lip. His body arches up against Jin’s, seeking warmth and contact, legs parting easily so his lover can stay between them. Jin revels in the strength of his desires, using them as fuel to feed his own. The longing thrums appreciatively. It’s suddenly an easy thing to pin Hwoarang’s wrists above his head with one hand while curling his fingers around his erection with the other.

 

Hwoarang’s eyelids flutter and he moans, canting his hips up into Jin’s touch. He doesn’t fight against the hold on his wrists and just gives in to his lover’s pressure, enjoying his assertiveness as much as anything else. That’s the thing about Hwoarang, Jin muses, tightening his grip slightly and watching intently as his lover arches, twisting marginally in his hold. He rolls with the punches a little better, and trusts himself (and Jin) enough to know that, whatever the method, the outcome will be mutually desirable. He isn’t afraid to relinquish his control to Jin – not anymore. Jin wishes he could do the same as easily as Hwoarang does. The longing agrees.

 

Growling softly, Jin shifts, angling his body so that he can briefly press his lips to Hwoarang’s smooth throat, the feeling of heat and sharp teeth making the redhead’s hips jerk upwards. He’s so open with his responses, so vocal with his appreciation (unhindered moans, breathless panting, Jin’s name murmured freely and with no pretense) and Jin just pushes harder, desirous want unfurling hot and powerful in his chest.

 

Hwoarang whimpers mindlessly, hips twitching and muscles clenching and Jin knows that he’s close. There’s no restraint here whatsoever, and there’s nothing better than this – the redhead moans loudly, eyes half-shut and glazed over with lust. Jin murmurs his name and he cries out, back arching up off the floor. He’s so close.

 

“Jin,” he pants, and Jin quickens his pace, making Hwoarang writhe beneath him. “Jin!”

 

Jin watches him, savoring the moment. His lover is desperate beneath him, his helpless, mewling cries reaching a new peak, Jin’s name a breathless mantra between every sound. His entire body trembles with want, and Jin knows that this is all it will ever be for him. He will never need anyone else this much.

 

He releases Hwoarang’s wrists and pulls him close instead, keeping his body tight against his own and smiling slightly when he feels his lover’s fingers digging into his back. A few more strokes is all it takes, and then it’s over – shuddering in his arms, Hwoarang climaxes, whimpering quietly against Jin’s neck. Jin just holds him closer.

 

The longing is unspeakable, and he knows they’ll be doing much more than this later. If he can just give the yearning a voice this time, maybe Hwoarang will understand that he’s the only thing that matters.

 


	6. Dark and True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are stars, and this is their sky.

 

Soft sheets in the half-darkness, soft skin against his own, soft words whispered into the still air. Calloused fingertips running along arching spines, over strong jawlines, tracing nonsense patterns into lines of well-trained muscle. Mouths meet in silence, slow and sensual, desirous want unfurling hot and unhurried in their veins. They have both the time and patience to linger like this, measured and deliberate, savoring the smooth slide of skin against skin and their bodies coming together once more.

 

Jin presses his lips to Hwoarang’s throat, enjoying the way his lover tilts his head back and sighs. He isn’t usually quite this relaxed – easygoing, perhaps, and not too terribly difficult to please, but never relaxed. Hwoarang’s passions run hot in every way, and to have him in bed is to start a fire with no end in sight. He burns with a ferocity that Jin loves to match, and even when they take their time, Hwoarang is still just that: fierce, intense, ardent.

 

For once, though, he is quiet. He lies beneath Jin, pliant and soft, fingers stroking slowly through Jin’s dark hair as they kiss. It’s sweet, and Hwoarang murmurs something indecipherable against his lips. He pulls away.

 

“Hm?”

 

A small huff of air against his face – Hwoarang is laughing at him.

 

“When did you turn into such a sap, anyway?”

 

Jin laughs lightly, drawing back a little bit more to see the small smile playing on Hwoarang’s lips in the low light. It’s a fond, teasing look, and very signature of him.

 

“Is that what you’re getting from this?”

 

“What else could I be getting from it?” Hwoarang stretches out invitingly beneath him, not looking the least bit concerned about Jin’s “sudden” romanticism. He’s fully aware of his lover’s eyes on him, but isn’t playing for attention as hard as he normally would (not that he really has to anymore). He isn’t thinking about anything else, or even what’ll happen next – all that seems to matter is here, and now, with Jin.

 

“Hush,” Jin says, and kisses him again, soft and easy. Hwoarang melts into it, uncharacteristically not much for talking at the moment, running his fingers through Jin’s hair before moving down to grip lightly at his shoulders.

 

It starts small, but their bodies do move as they often do, rocking slowly together as a subtle sort of intensity begins to build. They tangle their legs together, hip to hip, moving unhurriedly even as Hwoarang moans quietly against Jin’s mouth. Fingers tangle in his hair, keeping him close, and he loops his arms over Jin’s neck.

 

Soft sheets in the half-darkness, soft skin against his own, soft words whispered into the still air. This is their place, now, their time to spend together and simply be. Jin shifts to hold him closer, bodies pressed tightly together, marveling at the feeling of it all – his lover beneath him, against him, smooth muscle and sweat and aching familiarity. He knows all of this so well by now, adores it, cherishes this slow tenderness in every part of himself.

 

Hwoarang sighs into his mouth and rolls his hips up in deliberate motions, sending muted shocks of pleasure through Jin’s nerves. It’s heavy, a deep, gradual, burning sensation that climbs through their bodies, pooling and building deep within their cores. Jin kisses him a little deeper and increases their joint pace ever-so-slightly; beneath him, Hwoarang shudders, moaning a little louder this time. He never can stay quiet for long.

 

They are together, and this is all they want: to be together. They are one in so many ways, as individual as they are unified, different and similar and _together_. They move in the same ways, hands wandering, searching with little to no urgency, seeking only to touch and feel without the need to claim. They’ve had plenty of time to do all of that before now, and it shows. They are experienced with each other, with their bodies and everything about them, and the pressure picks up with such subtlety that it is, at times, almost painful.

 

But it isn’t. Jin buries his face in Hwoarang’s neck, panting slightly, suddenly closer than he’d thought he was and knowing that his lover is, if anything, ahead of him. Hwoarang moans, Jin’s name gasped out as an afterthought, arching his back to the weight of his lover’s body as Jin curves over him. They’re so close that they can both feel it, and when Hwoarang whimpers softly next to his ear, Jin knows nothing else except him and this tiny universe they’ve immersed themselves in together.

 

They are stars, and this is their sky.

 

Tangled up in themselves and their sheets, they catch their breath, Hwoarang tucked up next to Jin’s chest. Jin feels him shift slightly and knows that he’s listening to his heartbeat, having always taken comfort in the steadiness of its sound, and holds him just that much tighter. He couldn’t be happier. There is nothing else out there that is quite like what they have here.

 

“I love you.” Jin murmurs, lips soft as he presses a kiss to his lover’s forehead. Hwoarang touches his face and smiles Jin’s favorite smile, mixed degrees gentle and genuine and mischievous.

 

“Love you, too.”

 

 


	7. Sway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riling Jin up is a deceptively simple task, especially if your name is Hwoarang.

 

Jin Kazama may be a semi-stoic piece of work who is just this shy of being a prude sometimes, but he’s not made of stone. He keeps himself together pretty well, and his self-restraint is unmatched – seriously, Hwoarang can’t fathom how he manages it – but even Jin has his limits. Hwoarang, among all his other credentials, is very good at finding those. It’s a trade secret.

 

Between the two of them, it’s pretty obvious who thinks about sex more often. However, the enjoyment is completely even on both sides, and once Hwoarang gets him going, Jin can be exponentially more insatiable on every account. Just because sex isn’t on his mind (which isn’t that impressive, because Jin tends to think of one thing at a time, anyway) practically 24/7 like it is for Hwoarang when Jin is around doesn’t mean that he’s always averse to it if the situation arises. And the situations do arise. A lot. Hwoarang is very persistent, and Jin is very receptive.

 

The short of it is that riling Jin up is a deceptively simple task, especially if your name is Hwoarang.

 

He knows that Jin’s attraction towards him has physical elements as well as emotional ones, and he knows _exactly_ how to manipulate that to get what he wants. It’s nothing sinister or terribly coercive, just a simple matter of being in the right place at the right time and making a show out of whatever he happens to be doing at the moment when Jin takes notice of him. It doesn’t even have to be anything particularly spectacular. If anything, it’s usually something pretty clichéd, like stretching, or even bending over. Jin is a lot of things, but hard to please isn’t one of them.

 

Of course, making a point of being conveniently, noticeably sexy is already many steps into the process. Reading the mood first is always key – there’s no point in making an effort or coming on too strongly if Jin simply isn’t in the right frame of mind, after all. Hwoarang may be stubborn, but he isn’t stupid. He’s pretty good at getting a feel for the atmosphere, and today is looking like a good one.

 

Situation and location usually play a role, too, although those requirements have already been waived many a time. Bad days notwithstanding, training is a no-holds barred zone (probably because they’re already sweaty and half-dressed, anyway). In their apartment, things are pretty dependent on the situation at hand – is one of them cooking or handling a sharp object? No? It’s probably a safe bet to make a move, then. Location-wise, outside the apartment – situation be damned – is a huge no-no. Hwoarang is still working on that.

 

It’s not like this happens _all_ the time. Sure, Hwoarang has a pretty impressive sex drive, especially when it comes to Jin freaking Kazama, the most gorgeous, wonderful person in existence, but he’s not _totally_ insatiable. Physical contact is plenty for him – cuddles, closeness, the works. He loves that sappy shit, even though he’s never really admitted it out loud. He won’t die without sex. Probably.

 

But that’s not what today is shaping up to be, and he’s already halfway there. After checking on Jin’s attitude and giving himself the green light, he’d made a point of brushing past him with a little more contact than necessary to spark the interest (and a hand on Jin’s lower back never hurt, either). He’s got his attention now, so it’s more than simple enough to just casually fling himself onto the couch.

 

“Say, Jin,” he says, raising an eyebrow in his lover’s direction. “I’m kinda bored.”

 

“You could wash the dishes, you know.” Jin answers, always on top of things, but Hwoarang isn’t deterred by this in the slightest. Every invitation needs an introduction.

 

“Maybe later,” he says easily, stretching out on the cushions and taking gleeful note of the way that Jin’s eyes focus on him. “I was thinking that we could...you know. Do something else.”

 

Jin raises his impressive eyebrows but doesn’t reply otherwise. He _is_ a little closer now, though, hand on the back of the couch as he watches what his red-haired lover is up to this time. _Just a bit more, then._

 

“Jin.” Those dark eyes zero in on his face, and gods, it’s almost hilarious how ridiculously _easy_ this is. “How about you come a little closer?”

 

Hwoarang can see the exact moment when his intentions click inside of Jin’s head, and just like that, he’s in motion, coming around the couch as though summoned by a starting pistol.

 

_Bingo._

 

He laughs as Jin crawls on top of him, tangling his fingers in his lover’s dark hair and pulling him down for a kiss. It feels good (as it always does), and he nearly purrs with satisfaction as Jin’s thumb strokes along his cheekbone.

 

“You know,” Jin mumbles against his mouth, inhaling softly when Hwoarang nibbles on his lower lip, “You could’ve just – _hey_ – asked.”

 

“Could’ve.” Hwoarang shrugs slightly, one hand sliding up Jin’s muscular back and pushing his shirt aside. “Kind of did. It’s more fun this way, though.”

 

Jin huffs and shakes his head, smirking fondly up at him from underneath his bangs.

 

“You’re insatiable.”

 

Hwoarang is planning on responding when Jin ducks down to nip at the tender skin underneath his jaw. Needless to say, all other words die somewhere in the back of his mind.

 

His head falls back as he lets Jin work his magic, reveling in the dual sensations of their bodies pressed together and his lover’s lips against his throat. Something nudges against his crotch and he gasps, fingers gripping at Jin’s broad shoulders; the pressure intensifies, and Jin shifts slightly. Hwoarang feels a hand slip between them, running slowly down his stomach and teasing at his hips, and his breath hitches on a stifled whine.

 

“Jin,” he starts, but then his lover’s hand disappears beneath the waistband of his sweatpants and his mind blanks out. “ _Fuck!_ ”

 

Jin is kissing him again, more forcefully than before, swallowing his soft moans and keeping them very close together. His fingers stroke in perfect time and Hwoarang shudders, hips canting up into Jin’s touch as his body mindlessly seeks more friction. Shit, that’s good. His eyes slip shut and he clings to his lover’s broad shoulders, focusing on those intensifying sensations until they reach the point of no return and he’s gasping through his climax.

 

It takes a moment for him to gather up his bearings, but when he does open his eyes, his gaze is met by Jin’s, dancing, dark, and full of promise.

 

“I’m not finished with you, yet.” He says, his voice low, and Hwoarang grins.

 

Riling Jin up really isn’t that hard at all.

 


	8. Divine Torment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In some ways, Hwoarang's life is a nightmare. (AU)

 

Jin is his friend, and then he isn’t.

 

Well, okay. Jin is still his friend. His best friend, actually, and always will be, come hell or high water. Hwoarang wouldn’t leave his side for anything, not a fight, not a sticky situation, not even divine intervention (if things even came to that sort of thing in real life). Their understanding of each other is finely tuned, and everything from their teamwork to their sparring matches is a spectacular display of how deep their relationship runs. They are friends, they are rivals, they are closer than anything Hwoarang has ever known –

 

And then he fucks up.

 

It all started when he realized one unfortunate day that Jin was hot. Not in the aesthetically appealing “hey, check out my hot best friend” kind of way, but in the borderline-carnal “hey, I want to bone my hot best friend” kind of way. It hadn’t been sudden so much as it had been unexpected, and it hadn’t been so much horrifying as it had been deeply unsettling. Hwoarang had always figured that he had a pretty decent grip on his own psyche, but evidently, he’d been dead wrong in that department.

 

Needless to say, the development has left Hwoarang highly displeased. “Displeased” being the operative word there, of course, as it describes his feelings about as accurately as someone referring to a tornado as a spring breeze.

 

Sparring becomes, in a word, hell. Jin’s body is too perfect, his intensity too focused, his everything too stunningly, distractingly, _unbearably_ attractive. Hwoarang loses match after match, embarrassed as hell, and then Jin approaches him all _concerned_ with that worried dent between his strong eyebrows and holy _fuck_ Hwoarang is absolutely not equipped to deal with this sort of nonsense. Panicking has never been his immediate reaction to anything, but that’s probably why this has gotten so out of hand – he’s fricking _panicking_. He’s confusing both of them and has no way of handling the situation properly.

 

Because who on earth could he talk to about this? Certainly not any of his other friends, who would tease him mercilessly and probably not be any help whatsoever. They have some mutual friends, but most of them are _girls_ and Hwoarang is pretty positive that at least a few of them have massive crushes on Jin, anyway. An adult might have an idea about what to do, but Hwoarang would rather eat his own goggles than talk to his master – the only adult he really trusts, by the way – about something like this.

 

He could never, _ever_ tell anyone about the dreams he’s been having, about his well-considered fantasies involving his best friend pressed up against a wall and moaning Hwoarang’s name. That would just be the end of him.

 

So instead, he suffers in silence. It’s just a physical attraction (right? _Right?_ ) so it should go away on its own eventually. They’re teenagers, for crying out loud – sure, he’s seventeen and all, so it feels like it’s a _little_ late in the game for this shit, but what is he to know? This kind of crap could easily last well into his mid-twenties and no, _no_ , stopping that right there. _Don’t go that way_. The thought of still waking up hard after dreaming about Jin all the way into his early adulthood is more terrifying than it has any right to be, not to mention terribly unfair.

 

And then, of course, remains the most unbearably critical question: what if it isn’t just a physical attraction? What if the genuine affection he feels for his best friend has romantic elements to it that he hadn’t even known about? He’d certainly be lying if he claimed he hadn’t thought about dating Jin before. They’d been young and innocent once, after all, and he can remember thinking that his best friend was cute back when they were still in junior high. Hell, he’d even gone as far to throw out all those little love notes that Jin’s many admirers (even at that age, sheesh) had given to Hwoarang as a go-between. Jin is cute and sweet and wonderful to be around, and that is an undeniable fact. Even in high school now, Hwoarang still thinks about it.

 

It’s just that now he also thinks about jerking him off or something else really incriminating like that. Best Friend of the Year Award clearly goes to Hwoarang.

 

The second-to-worst thing about this – because of course, the worst part about all of this is that he sometimes has trouble acting right around Jin, which worries him unnecessarily – is that it’s so fucking easy to imagine all of these things. Jin is drop-dead _gorgeous_ , and no one knows that better than Hwoarang does. His once-idle fascination and interest in the development of Jin’s musculature and physicality (both out of aesthetic observance and for the sake of proper sparring) has soundly betrayed him, and his knowledge of his best friend’s body is more of a curse than anything else. He shouldn’t know him well enough to be able to fantasize in perfect detail _exactly_ how Jin would feel when pressed up against him, but unfortunately, he has a lot of source material and too much free time.

 

_Jin’s mouth is soft and full, and Hwoarang knows this by experience – they’ve pressed gauze pads to each other’s split lips often enough now to have a pretty good idea. The fact that Jin has kissed his forehead a few times before in the history of their friendship doesn’t help, either._

 

_His grip is strong but his hands themselves are gentle, long fingers and feather-light touches that almost seem to take the pain away rather than increase it. He knows what it feels like to hold Jin’s hand. It’s amazing._

 

_In particular, his thighs are fantastic, and are probably the first thing Hwoarang had registered as initiating any sort of carnal response. It has only gotten worse since then._

 

_Being hugged by Jin makes him feel like he’s floating, and it truly is no struggle to imagine how it might feel having those strong arms wrapped around him in other situations. Especially since Jin is a cuddler and they’ve been spending nights at each other’s houses since they were in junior high._

 

So when he’s alone, he doesn’t really make much of a fuss. The sooner he assimilates it, the sooner it’ll go away – probably. A purer desire to simply be Jin’s romantic companion is still a statistical possibility, but he doesn’t quite have the brain power to think about that yet. He’s got...other things to take care of first.

 


	9. Give My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything will be alright.

 

He never thought that he would make it this far.

 

In all fairness, he’d never _wanted_ to make it this far. He owed it to the world to disappear, after all, to leave this place better than he found it, to die and take his endless entourage of demons – personal or otherwise – with him. He’d been duty-bound to such a calling, and after everything he’d done, he deserved it. An ugly death. The hatred of the world. The understanding of only himself.

 

But now he’s here, and it’s not any of those things. This is different. Good. He may not deserve this just yet, but he wants it, and everything requires a first step.

 

Hwoarang looks up at him through soft eyes, studying him, but it doesn’t feel like scrutiny. He’s gauging his temperament, searching for signs of regret, of nervousness, of fear, scanning attentively like Jin is the only thing in this world that matters. He’d already made his feelings clear when this had started, but that hasn’t stopped him – or either of them, really – from checking back in just to make sure.

 

“If you’re not ready,” Hwoarang starts, but Jin shakes his head and silences him with a brief kiss.

 

“I’m fine.” He says. He is careful to keep his personal uncertainties from tainting his conviction. Hwoarang would certainly stop them if he felt the need to, and he’s been fairly firm on the fact that Jin’s comfort comes first, but Jin doesn’t want them to stop. He wants this. He needs this, really, needs to be warmer and more familiar and closer, closer, _closer_. He wishes he could say as such, but getting here had been hard enough as it was, and expressing his feelings clearly with words isn’t exactly Jin’s strong suit. It isn’t Hwoarang’s, either, so the fact that they’re even in this position is a miracle in itself.

 

Jin keeps his secrets held close, doing his best to avoid betraying what he’s feeling on the inside. It’s a defense mechanism, in a way, built after his childhood love and gentleness and benevolence had almost destroyed him. Heihachi had always given the impression that emotions were a weakness, and although the teachings of his own mother stated very much the opposite, Jin couldn’t help but assimilate the lesson that would best ensure his survival. The result lies in this bed now, a terrified, broken man with a distinct inability to give his feelings a voice.

 

Hwoarang is very similar to him, even as they are distinctly opposite. Unlike Jin, he had learned from a very young age not to express any sort of weakness whatsoever, to appear bigger and stronger than you actually were so you couldn’t be taken advantage of. This had translated into loud, brash aggression, something that could only be tempered by willing self-discipline and a creative outlet that allowed for such pent-up rage to be displaced. Instead of saying nothing at all, he would say everything but what mattered most. Somewhat more well-adjusted than Jin, but damaged nonetheless, and all the more willing to let him in for it.

 

Honestly, neither of them ever thought that they would make it this far, in any respect. They’re still in one piece. They’re still alive. They’re here, together, in Hwoarang’s bed, finding the courage to reach out in a way that neither of them have ever quite managed before.

 

It’s far too late to claim this as being just a physical thing. Fighting is for physical desires, for heat and blood and whatever else is streaming through their veins. This is something different.

 

This is Hwoarang running his fingers through Jin’s dark hair, threading lightly between the strands and drawing him down for a kiss. This is their bodies pressing together, skin against skin, hard muscle and warmth and every slight movement. This is Hwoarang murmuring his given name and Jin wanting to answer. This them fitting together so neatly that one would think it was supposed to be that way.

 

This is Jin forgetting everything else and thinking, just this once, that maybe he deserves something good after all.

 

The solace of it all overtakes him, a directionless rhythm that drowns out his endless fears and allows him, just this once, to simply exist. To close his eyes and trust his senses, his instincts, his connection to this guiding light here with him. To hold someone else in his arms and feel their body against his own, strong and solid and undeniably real. To shed all the weight of this world and be safe at long last in this shared space they’ve made for themselves, small and warm and precious. It’s strange to feel this way, but even the novelty of it isn’t all that important in the face of the experience itself.

 

Because it’s the moment that matters. It’s the sound of Hwoarang’s voice as he speaks to him, his voice the softest it’s ever been, guidance and reassurance and Jin’s name on his lips. It’s the way that he grips at Jin’s back and shoulders, tightly at first as he tries to relax, then loosening up as his breathing returns to normal. It’s the way that he looks up at him, quietly and longingly; it’s the way that he keeps him close, pulls him down, whispers to him that everything will be alright.

 

_Everything will be alright._

 

Jin can’t keep up the pace for long, inexperienced and overwhelmed and rapidly approaching release. He pants Hwoarang’s name, moaning into the curve of his neck, and his rival – his friend, his companion, his lover – answers him, hushed and desperate and just as far gone as Jin is. There’s no way of knowing who will be able to hold on longer, but then Hwoarang’s body is tensing up beneath him, his whole frame shuddering as his climax hits him hard.

 

It’s the sensory overload that has Jin following – the tightness, the heat, the closeness of it all, the little, soft noises that Hwoarang is making in the back of his throat – and he gasps, a strangled moan resonating deep in his chest. His vision floods white, and he almost feels like he’s floating for a moment or two, the only thing tethering him to the ground being Hwoarang’s arms around him. He feels light, breathless, alive, every nerve humming quietly, a gentle little song of sorts that slowly lulls him back to the soft quietude of reality.

 

The other shifts beneath him, one hand leaving his back to settle in his hair. Jin slowly opens his eyes.

 

“You alright?” Hwoarang asks softly, pushing Jin’s bangs out of his face. _Gods_ , the way he looks at him like he’s someone that matters will always mean more to Jin than he can say. He’s not the only person who has ever given him patience or kindness or understanding, but he is the only person in a very long time who has ever given him _this_.

 

_(Safety. Trust. Love.)_

 

Jin can only nod and kiss him, taking comfort in Hwoarang’s smile against his mouth and knowing that, someday, he’ll be able to answer him with words.

 

 


	10. On the Verge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best of places is right here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for all the feedback and encouragement! Hopefully, the next time I post something with multiple chapters, it'll be an actual, full-length story. Have a wonderful day and take care!

 

Hwoarang has forgotten himself.

 

He has forgotten where he is, where he’s been, what his own name is, even. He remembers nothing, is unable to think enough to try and focus on that at all. The world has narrowed down to just this moment, this instant, this second by second passing of time, and he has forgotten everything else in the wake of it. All he knows – all he needs to know – is this.

 

All he knows is the touch of his lover’s hands, feather-light brushes of fingertips ranging to a bruising grip, all over his chest and hips and inner thighs. All he knows is a mouth, insistent and demanding against his own, against his throat, lips and teeth and tongue that send shockwaves racing through his hyper-sensitive nerves. All he knows are the waves of pleasure overtaking him, the force of a body leaning over his own and holding him close, the wondrous sound of a gloriously deep voice murmuring soft, affectionate words against his skin and into his ear.

 

All he knows is Jin.

 

Jin has never seen his lover quite like this, and he lingers on the experience, testing different angles to see what will make Hwoarang cry out the loudest. He’s never been one to keep quiet during sex, but certain noises are more indicative of immersion than others. Moaning openly, Hwoarang arches his back and tilts his head, exposing his throat as Jin drives deeper into him. A nip there makes him gasp; Jin nuzzles lightly against the underside of his jaw and Hwoarang flat-out whimpers, trembling in his arms.

 

His cries begin to increase in volume, and Jin knows well enough by now that he’s getting close. Everything may be magnified in this moment, but the nature of the signs are fundamentally the same: hands clenching in the sheets, the utter incoherency of his words, the way that his pants and moans start to sound the same. Hwoarang is desperate, completely at the mercy of Jin’s actions, body willing and strung tight as the pleasure mounts significantly. Jin can feel his own release approaching and pushes harder, striking a place inside his lover that has Hwoarang writhing and keening in his arms, lips parted and face flushed. Jin leans in.

 

“Look at me,” he murmurs, and Hwoarang mewls at the rumble in his voice. “Hwoarang.”

 

His lover barely manages to comply, eyelashes fluttering dazedly against his cheekbones as he struggles to keep his gaze on Jin despite the impending rush of release. Jin smiles at him, nuzzling the bridge of his nose before kissing him, swallowing Hwoarang’s moans as they continue to increase in frequency. He’s so close.

 

Pulling back, Jin moans low in this throat, laughing quietly when Hwoarang whines at the sound. It’s amazing how attractive he finds Jin to be, although it’s just as well: Jin thinks that Hwoarang is beautiful, too.

 

“You’re alright,” he whispers, and this is it. He doesn’t want to miss this. “Ssh, ssh, you’re okay. Just let go.”

 

“Jin,” Hwoarang manages, the hushed, desperate sound making a groan form in Jin’s chest. “Jin... _gods_ , _Jin_ – ” Hwoarang shudders uncontrollably, panting and whimpering, shaking fingers digging into Jin’s back as his climax hits him hard. He feels like he’s drowning, every nerve alight with the sensations of it. There is color, there is pleasure, and in the midst of it all, there is Jin.

 

Jin, who drops to his elbows when Hwoarang’s release comes, briefly overwhelmed by the feeling of his body tightening around him. Jin, who shuts his eyes and buries his face in Hwoarang’s neck as his own climax rapidly approaches. Jin, who moans Hwoarang’s name with no pretense, calling out to him, holding him close as his vision floods white.

 

They are still for a while, breathing heavily, Hwoarang taking solace in the comforting weight of Jin’s body and Jin enjoying the lack of distance between them. There is so much to be said with the silence, and as they get their breathing back on track, they are content to linger in each other’s company.

 

Eventually, Jin stirs, lifting his head and blinking slowly in the light. Hwoarang laughs quietly at his sleepy, dazed expression and disorderly bangs.

 

“You alright there?” He asks softly, cupping Jin’s face in his hand and feeling a warm glow of fondness suffuse his consciousness when his lover smiles and leans into the touch.

 

“Tired,” Jin says, kissing Hwoarang’s wrist, “But happy. That was good. I...I felt a lot of things.”

 

“You’d better believe it.” Hwoarang tries and fails to stifle a yawn, and Jin smiles at him. “Keep blowing my mind like that and I won’t have any brain cells left.”

 

“Well, it’s a good thing that it doesn’t work like that, now isn't it.” Jin teases lightly, and leans in to kiss him. He can feel Hwoarang’s answering smile against his lips and shifts slightly, feeling his lover’s arms go up over his shoulder. Jin hums.

 

“Cute,” Hwoarang mutters into his mouth, and Jin huffs a muffled laugh before pulling back slightly.

 

“I’m happy here,” he says by way of explanation, nuzzling the bridge of Hwoarang’s nose and kissing his cheek. “With you. Like this.”

 

“Good.” Hwoarang grins at him, but it’s softer than usual, full of love and affection and all of those other, wonderful things that they’ve come to know from one another. “I’m happy here, too.”

 


End file.
